Nothing More to Give
by 1000 paper cranes
Summary: When Ginny is elected by her brothers to retrieve Harry from number four, Privet Drive, she discovers the BoyWhoLived is not as invincible as she had imagined. Abused!Harry.
1. Chapter 1

(Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the series)

It had been three weeks since Harry had gone back to the Dursleys; three weeks without any communication with him whatsoever. Ron had tried. They all had tried. Even Hedwig, whom Pig had just grown accustomed to sharing his cage with- she often stopped at the Weasleys' during her night hunts- had yet to grace the Burrow's windowsill.

And they knew Harry would never coop her up on his own accord.

It didn't bode well. They had enlisted Bill and Charlie to battle for Harry's release at Order meetings, but despite their efforts the outcome was always the same: The Dark can't touch Harry at his relatives. He stays; he'll be removed in time.

In time? The Weasley siblings had had enough here and now. If nobody was going to rescue their friend, they were going to do it themselves.

* * *

Number four, Privet Drive was eerily quiet. The muffled thump of Ginny landing in the fireplace seemed to reverberate throughout their living room.

"Hello? Harry?" she called out tentatively, stepping over the fireplace grating. The ash clinging to her clothing fluttered down to leave gray smudges on an otherwise immaculate white carpet, which echoed the perfect white furniture and walls. It was reminiscent of a hospital ward, only not really. Hospitals were bustling with life, and the struggle for it. This… was a void.

"Hello?" she cried out again, louder this time. Clutching her cardigan closer to her, she half-wished she hadn't fought so tirelessly to be the one to come here. Standing in this unnaturally sterile room was giving her goosebumps.

It had seemed so right back in the familiar disarray- a chance to prove to Harry she was more than his best friend's sister, to her brothers that she was more than the weak link of the sibling bond, to herself… to herself that she was more than more than the crumbled figure at Tom's feet. Her soul had once given him his strength, but no longer. She would never let anyone be that close to her again.

Her soul was her own.

She scoffed half-heartedly. What was she even afraid of? This was a muggle dwelling, for Merlin's sake. She had her wand.

Somewhat reassured, she strolled around the Dursley living room, running her fingers over the surface of a white leather armchair. Nothing strange: She was just used to living in chaos. After all, it was impossible to live in the same house as Fred and George and know the meaning of the words "clean" or "organized".

But there was still something wrong about this place… Ginny wanted to say sinister, but realized how melodramatic that sounded.

Down to business. The twins had bribed a family friend who worked in the Floo Regulation Panel (Ginny had thought it wise not to ask where the money had come from, even though the two swore it was from legal means) for fifteen minutes of connection with number four's fireplace. Much more time than necessary, of course, but they had thought it wise just in case a freak fire or earthquake or whatever caused a delay. _Wouldn't it be sad if they were out?_ Ginny thought ironically. _After all this planning Fred and George would have a fit. Not to mention Ron…_

She turned a corner and walked into the hallway. Thank Merlin the white carpet was replaced with wood-paneled floors out here, but everything else was still as freakishly neat as ever. The stairwell was gleaming, the photos on the wall were perfectly symmetrical. She smiled despite herself when she saw them. Still photographs! The poor muggles; at least in wizarding ones the people inside could move around a bit.

The pictures were as painstakingly framed and posed as she had expected them to be, even if the people themselves were… unattractive, to put it politely. They seemed to be arranged on the wall in chronological order. There was a chubby blond baby with both parents looking on adoringly in one frame, a fat toddler playing with an electric train set in the next, and so on. Her eyes focused on one near the middle, showing a couple matched for muggle sitcoms- one nearly bursting out of his trousers, the other rail-thin with buckteeth- decked out in holiday garb with that obnoxious kid sneering at the camera. _Merry Christmas from the Dursleys! _ran the bottom of the card. Ginny leaned forward, confused. The kid had to be Harry's cousin, and he looked like he was about seven in the picture. From what she recalled Harry and his cousin were about the same age. If this was their Christmas card, where was

A dark shape in her peripheral vision shot at her, flinging a drawn butterfly knife around her neck. "Drop the stick or I cut open your throat," he hissed.

Ginny froze; her eyes darted around the room for some escape. He applied a little more pressure to the blade. "Now."

_Harry had mentioned this once. His cousin. Leader of a neighborhood gang, right? Called himself Big D. Vandalized playgrounds, beat up little kids. She remembered the weary look in Harry's eyes- more violence he was powerless to stop. It had been so quick, a piece of his outside life Harry had inadvertently revealed._

_Ginny had never forgotten._

She shuddered as her fingers uncurled; time itself lengthened her wand fell to the ground. She could hear the satisfaction in his voice as her wand clattered against the floor. "Good girl," he said, then paused before asking, "Know Harry?"

He didn't wait for her answer. "Stupid. Of course you do," he muttered under his breath, "You're a freak like him, probably from that freak school of his…"

Normally she would have hotly interjected here to tell him she was a witch, thankyouverymuch, and that was more than he could say. But even if her intelligence wasn't equal to Percy's she was smart enough to realize there was no point in pushing him over the edge.

"DAAAAD!" he called up the stairwell. A fleshy, balding man thumped down from the second floor. Ginny instantly recognized him as the man in the Christmas picture. He managed to look both contemptuous and surprised he surveyed the scene below him. It was an expression strangely reminiscent of Professor Snape.

"Harry has a visitor," the person holding the knife said maliciously.

The man broke out into a horrible, ominous smile. "And why keep the girl waiting, son?" he asked with the same tone of venom and pleasure.

He knelt down in front the cupboard built into the stairs and began fishing through his pockets. Finally he produced a key. He chose a lock on the door and inserted it, twisting the key and then yanking the lock off. For two other locks he twirled a dial. Those locks were tossed behind him, too. He pushed the door open fiercely with the flat of his palm, making it slam into the wall and swing back.

Ginny fought the rising panic in her throat. What were they doing? And how could she ever been stupid enough to let her guard down, to let that… beast… sneak up from behind, get her to release her wand? _"CONSTANT VILAGANCE!" _Moody's voice roared in her head. But a muggle! A muggle!

The man stood up now, dragging some load with him; the door blocked her view. The fingers of his left hand momentarily left the load and grasped the top of the door, let it slowly swing back before regaining a firm hold …on the other arm… of a boy with raven-dark hair…

Ginny staggered in her captor's grasp, swallowed her shock and the bile rising in her throat. No. The Boy Who Lived… he wasn't this fallible. This human.

Harry was limp in his uncle's grip, his face ashen gray. Both legs were hanging in unnatural directions- _broken, _she realized. Blood was creeping down his calves and twisting around his ankles. The hardwood floor was gradually turning a thick, lazy scarlet.

One of the arms of his Hogwarts regulation dress shirt was slit all the way from the wrist to the shoulder. The bare arm was charcoal black, purple, a sickening green…colors made up of livid bruises in various stages of recovery. Sprawled across his arm were letters carved into the skin, the scars crimson red and swollen, making the word _bastard_. The writing faced his uncle's direction.

And his eyes… his eyes, once a beautiful emerald, were now blackened hollows, too jaded to betray emotion. When he looked out he saw nothing, murmuring almost to himself, "what now, sir?"

She wanted to cry. What was her pain to his?

"Look up, boy" he growled harshly into Harry's ears. Ginny paled at it; the voice was tinged with suppressed excitement.

Bleary eyes finally focused on her, and the recognition was apparent as the listless expression on his face morphed into one of horror. She shivered as he seemed to look beyond her, through her, to dreams she never witnessed and events only he could foretell…

"_No_" Harry whispered hoarsely to the room.

The boy who held her's voice rung with glee. "Something finally gets a response out of you, eh? Can't believe she just wandered into our living room." His chin touched her neck as he breathed into her ear, "thanks, sweetheart." She could taste the lewd desires lingering in his voice and it disgusted her, filled her with a sense of fear and violation she hadn't felt since her second year, when she's been lying in the lair of the basilisk…

"This doesn't have to do with her," Harry begged softly, voice wheezing. His windpipes had been damaged, Ginny shuddered as she deduced how. "What more do you want?… What more is left to take?"

"That's right," his uncle grinned savagely. He began ticking off fingers as he recited:

"Trunk packed with all your freak stuff- locked in the basement. You're not worth…

"The money for food." Harry completed wearily, as if he had heard this sentiment many times before.

Ginny stared, horrified.

"That stupid bird of yours is gone- do you remember, Harry?" he breathed, leaning in so he was inches away from Harry's ear. "Wrung her pretty little neck, didn't I? Of course you do, you had to clean up the blood that soaked into the carpet. Couple hours with stain remover, I think?"

Harry was repressing trembles; his eyes had glazed over.

"Was your own fault, wasn't it?"

silence.

"Boy?!?"

a small, choked, "Yessir".

His uncle straighten, satisfied. "You deserve everything, you know."

"Yes, sir." A soft, mechanical reply.

"We give you a roof over your head, the bones off our plates… all out of the goodness of our hearts…"

If there was good in his heart, Ginny roared silently, then He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was a model philanthropist.

"and what do we get for it? Nothing, you ungrateful bastard. Your freak lot keeps dumping you back here every summer- but then, it's not like they'd want to deal with you any more than we do.

"And you know why?"

"Because I'm a inconvenience no one wants to bother with, and if I'm not going to die with my parents I should hurry up and do it alone," Harry recited faintly.

His uncle smiled to himself.

"Sadist," she hissed at him. The man turned to stare at her, mildly surprised. This wasn't about her… she wasn't part of the battle of wills playing out before her, only a leverage to break one of them. He had forgotten she was even there.

"Don't insult my father," his cousin smiled cruelly. She gasped as felt the knife press into her skin. A line burned like fire on her throat and she could feel a thick liquid just trickling down her neck. "Hope she's not your girlfriend, PottARRGH!!"

His scream pierced her ears- Harry had slipped free of his uncle, threw himself upon his cousin to break his grasp on her. The boy flailed the knife in his hand desperately, slashing into Harry's back, flinging blood on the walls and those horrid photographs.

"Run, Gin…" Harry called to her weakly.

His uncle, recovering quickly from the shock, was bellowing like an enraged animal. "HOW DARE YOU ATTACK A MEMBER OF MY FAMILY!" he roared, swinging his foot savagely into Harry's side, forcing Harry to flip over twice before crashing into a wall…

She was a liability without her wand, she knew, but how could she abandon him?

"Go…" he implored faintly. "Won't…your blood… my… hands…"

He slid down the wall, unable to support his weight, using his last strength to whisper, "Don't grieve… not …worth…"

_Crack._

A steeled toe boot connected with Harry's skull.


	2. Chapter 2

She ran, splashing through the blood, nearly colliding with the corner as she turned into the living room. The room was pristine as ever; the only mark that betrayed the evil within was the blood clinging to her footprints. She hurdled over the fireplace grating, plunged her hand into her pocket, screamed "THE BURROW!" as she flung a handful of Floo powder into the air.

The flames stopped burning instantly, and as soon as she stopped feeling dizzy she turned around to face her siblings, to jump out of the fire to make way for her brothers or father.

They weren't there.

The white room tainted with Harry's blood was.

-------

Fred and George looked at each other uncertainly. "Er, George," Fred winced, glancing at the fireplace, "the time…"

"Limit's up, yeah," George finished. "If mum finds out…"

"Merlin, at this point who cares if mum finds out!" Ron yelped, pacing the ground, the floorboards creaking under his weight as if about to fall though- much like most of the Burrow. "Is that really all you're worried about?"

George sighed exasperatedly. "Of course it's not _all_ we're worried about. But it's certainly up in the top three."

Drawing straws probably hadn't been the brightest idea, but all of them had wanted to go, and that wouldn't have worked- what if mum or dad had come home early, or Percy had, for some miraculous reason, paused in his stupid ministry work and come out of his room? Someone would need to cover. And, of course, it would be easier to disguise the absence of one person versus the lot of them.

The hitch in the plan had been when Ginny won. They had been about to protest when Ginny, expecting resistance, whipped out her wand and threatened to bat-bogey anyone who contested her victory.

The Weasley brothers were tough. But who stood a chance against Ginny's infamous bat-bogey hexing skills?

They all were starting to wonder if they should have tried anyway. But nothing, it seemed, could suppress the twin's humor. "I mean, we're worried about Harry's health too," George finished. "We all know what she'll do when she finds him."

"Oh Ginny," Fred sighed dramatically, "did you really need a private moment with Harry so badly?"

"You could have snogged him here," George reasoned outloud, suppressing sniggers.

"We wouldn't have barged in."

"Probably."

"Maybe."

"Anyway," George declared, straightening. "We've got to rescue poor Harry from her."

"Ahh," Fred mused. "the clutches of a Weasley woman."

"Bloke hasn't a hope for escape without reinforcements."

"Call out the cavalry, George!" Fred cried as scooped a handful of Floo powder. He swung his arm back, ready to fling the dust into the flames, but Ron grabbed him by the wrist before he could do so.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"Someone's got to reconnect Harry's place, right?" George answered for him, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Ron stared at the two of them searchingly. "I thought you guys were posing as Percy last time," he told them. "Didn't you fake his handwriting?"

Their identical evil grins were answer enough.

Ron sighed, exasperated. "Don't you remember _why_ you had to do that?"

The pair looked at each other. "There was a reason?" George asked his twin.

Fred shrugged his shoulders. "I thought we were doing it just to piss him off."

Ron hit himself in the forehead with the flat of his palm. "Gods! It was because Dimitri hates you!"

George looked surprised, but comprehension washed over Fred. "Did we prank him?" he asked.

Understanding lit George's eyes as Ron released Fred's wrist to collapse into an who-knows-how-old armchair, looking at the two of them tiredly.

"You really don't remember."

"Nope." The two of them answered, their energetic nature contrasting harshly with Ron's exhaustion and frustration.

"It's not like we remember _everyone_ we prank," Fred expounded.

"Our heads would explode."

Ron flopped his head to lean on the top of the back of the chair. "Last year, June. Dad had invited him over for dinner," Ron sighed, looking at the ceiling. "Nosebleed Nougats were in the experimental stage?"

A dreamy look washed over the twin's faces.

"Oh yeah…."

"Pity now, I suppose," Fred said unrepentantly.

"But the chaos…"

"Shut it!" Ron snapped at them, rudely awakening them from their revival of fond memories. He was sitting upright now, tense, holding his hand palm-up to Fred. "We've got to hurry. Give me the stupid Floo powder, I'll go."

Fred made to do so but then paused, looking at Ron strangely. "Err, Ron…" he asked carefully, "Is something wrong?"

Ron's hand went limp as he looked him straight in the eye, chewing on his bottom lip. Finally he spoke:

"Do you remember… when we rescued him last… the bars on Harry's window?"

--------

Ginny crouched, shaking, in the ashes of the fireplace. It was a poor hiding place: The ornately wrought iron grating did little to shield the figure of the huddled girl.

But what did it matter, Harry, her Harry, was dead, blood rushing from his wounds, crimson steaming from him, forming little rivers that snaked away from his quickly-chilling corpse and meandered around the corner, absorbed into white carpet, stopped in its attempt to reach closer to her… she was hyperventilating, breathing irregular and jagged, arms clutched wildly around her legs. Her mind, though clouded with semi-controlled hysteria, realized that she had to stay quiet… And she was shaking so, if a leg jerked and hit the grating like the inside of a bell, all would be lost.

She wouldn't believe he was broken, wouldn't, wouldn't, wouldn't cry, what was her pain to his, to…

--------

The twins were staring at him. "Yeah, I remember the bars," Fred said. "What about them?"

Ron took a deep breath. "Don't you think it seemed a bit off? Why would there be bars on his window?"

The twins paused at this. Back then, the heat of the moment had prevented them from questioning the presence of those bars.

"Eh, you're overreacting, Ron." George said finally, shrugging his shoulders. "They were probably to keep out burglars or something."

"He's on the second floor!"

"Ok, scratch that theory," George conceded.

"Look," Fred told him, "who knows? Maybe they were there for decorative purposes- Harry didn't seem concerned."

"the catflap?"

"I dunno, maybe it's a muggle thing."

Ron was becoming frustrated again. Didn't they get it, why were they dismissing it as normal?

"He was locked in the room! You had to pick the door open to get his stuff with a hairpin!"

Fred threw his hands in the air in a form of mock surrender. "How am I supposed to know? You're his best friend, not me!"

"You should ask him," George said reasonably.

The statement seemed to hit Ron like a punch to the stomach.

"I'm sure there's an explanation," Fred continued, but Ron wasn't listening: he steadily grew paler and finally clutched the back of the armchair for support. George was right… why hadn't he asked? The whole affair had always felt…off… to him, but he had never…. never questioned it.

Another blow, one that made Ron double over in self-disgust and fear- how many other hints had he dismissed, never asked about? At the thought scenes played, unbidden, before his eyes: Harry, saying his Hogwarts letter was addressed to his cupboard under the stairs; the Burrow, Harry's first time with Floo powder, explaining to mum that his relatives wouldn't mind if he got trapped in a chimney; the first time they met, Harry dressed in taped glasses and oversized hand-me-downs even a Weasley would throw; Harry, the end of their second year, telling him and Hermione his relatives would be upset that he hadn't managed to get himself killed…

He felt like he wanted to be sick.

"Empty your pockets George, we'll need to give him some bribery material…" Fred's voice drifted to him as if through water, hazy and undistinguishable.

Why? Why had he accepted it all?

"Hmmm, this isn't very much," George mused from worlds away, "Do you reckon 6 gallons, 9 sickles is really going to sway ol' Dimiti?"

Why had he never asked?

"Looks like it's time to raid our savings. Ron, sit tight for a bit, we'll be right down."

The two had never noticed his moment of epiphany. Chatting lightly, they bounded up the stairs two at a time.

Oh Gods, oh Merlin, no, if he was right… _Ginny!_ The though jerked him from his reverie. He forced his breathing to slow. Calm down. He was jumping to conclusions, that's all. He was overreacting, just like George said. All those times Harry had been joking about his relatives didn't mean anything; Ron did it all the time: "Mum will kill me if I don't clean my room", etc. It didn't mean Mum was actually going to Avada Kadavra him. The clothes… maybe their family had been going through a really tough patch. Ron could understand that. And the glasses… he'd probably stepped on them or something, and there hadn't been enough time to get them fixed. That's all.

If Harry's relatives were really that bad, he would have told Dumbledore or someone. Hell, the way he was twisting facts, he could be the next Rita Skeeter!

Ron smiled wanly at the thought, and it steadied him. Harry was fine. He was the Boy-Who-Lived for Merlin's sake. And Ginny… Harry had battled a basilisk for her, hadn't he? It wasn't like he'd let a bunch of muggles hurt her. And Ginny was a competent witch; they would never stand a chance. Ron felt his heat slow to a normal beat pace. Why was he panicking? He was jumping to conclusions. They were fine.

George leaned out over the banister, still on the second floor, to cry to Ron:

"Catch!"

Imitating a bombardier, he theatrically released his grip on a small, coin-laden pouch, which fell like a heavy stone. Ron, more focused on his own thoughts than him, didn't hear the warning and instead was hit by the bag in the back of the head.

"AARGH! BLOODY…"

Clutching his head, he continued to curse while spinning his head to look for the offending projectile. George grinned.

"Imagine what mum would say…"

"…if she heard her Ronnikins now!" Fred finished, face popping over the banister.

Growling half-heartedly, Ron ignored them and instead picked up and proceeded to open the pouch. His jaw dropped.

"Wha…Where did you get all these galleons?" he almost gasped. "How many are there?"

"Forty-two." Fred said in a satisfied tone. "Should be enough."

"It's supposed to be a muggle 'lucky number'" George chimed in.

His head was starting to throb now. Pocketing the pouch, he scooped a handful of Floo powder from the flower pot.

"What was it, Fred? 'Answer to the world'?"

"Something like that."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Whatever, be ready when I come back," he called up to them. But he didn't need to: Ron would never leave.

He couldn't. The fireplace was currently blocked by one Charlie Weasley, who was brushing soot off his robes and looking at Ron suspiciously.


End file.
